


Loud Noises and Questionable Gambling

by GallifreyanAtHearts



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is...
Genre: Fluff, M/M, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3384056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanAtHearts/pseuds/GallifreyanAtHearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill just wants to drink his coffee in peace.  He wishes the table at the far end of the shop would be a bit quieter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loud Noises and Questionable Gambling

**Author's Note:**

> This was first a tumblr post, and then a conversation, and now it is a fic.

All Bill wants is a cup of coffee and some peace and quiet to write. He hates Starbucks, he hates that by definition that they are crowded, and loud, filled with teenagers talking too loudly and chic business people also talking to loudly, but into smartphones.  Bill doesn’t mind teenagers or smartphones; he just minds the noise sometimes.

It’s not _too_ bad today; it’s a weird hour in the afternoon, too late for lunch coffee, too early for afternoon coffee.  There are a few other people around, but for the most part, the relatively small place is fairly quiet.  Mostly.  Except.  Bill is on his second cup, sitting at a corner table, with a small notebook and a chewed up pen, trying to tune out the loud laughter coming from the farthest table from his.  Bill glances up at the table, where two men and a woman sit, all talking and laughing animatedly.  How rude.

Bill looks down at his notebook and scribbles out almost the entire page in frustration.  It’s all crap.  He’s not getting anything he done.  He packs up the notebook and the pen and focuses his attention on his coffee.  He’ll leave when he finishes it.  He imagines patterns in the steam that curls above it in wisps and takes small, gratifying sips.

The coffee is ever so slightly bitter, masked by the sweetener he had added.  It is perfect.  Bill sighs.  There is a dull feeling in his chest, the feeling of a lack of productivity and the frustration of writing and the sitting alone playing with his coffee.  He revels in the taste and the feeling of being alone.

It is a shock to Bill’s daydreams and stray thoughts when a stranger slides into the empty chair across him.  A smiling face appears in Bill’s field of vision, under a fluff of unruly curls.  Bill looks into bright eyes, unsettled by this sudden intrusion.

“Can I help you?”  Bill asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Smile, darling, they’re watching.”  The man says.  If Bill was startled before, now he is unnerved.

“Excuse me?”

“Just smile, I’ll explain after.”  The strangers grin widens, he is beaming at Bill.  Bill does not smile.  “C’mon, help me out, there’s forty bucks at stake here.”  The man says.  Bill’s eyebrows shoot upward.

“What are you talking about?  What are you doing here?  Please leave me alone.”  Bill says.

“No, wait.  I bet my friends that I could get the number of anybody in this place and they picked you.”  He points over to the far table, the one where all the noise had been coming from before.  “Can you just like, smile and then write a fake name and number on like, a napkin or something?”  He hands a lime green sharpie over to Bill.  Bill stares at the man.

“Why should I help you?”  Bill says, leaning forward, propping his chin on his hand.  The man leans forward too.

“Because I’ll use the money I win to take you out for dinner.”  The man says.

“And what if I don’t want to go to dinner with you?”  Bill tilts his head, looking at the man through his eyelashes.

“Are you actually turning down free dinner?  With someone as handsome as _me_?”  The man looks incredulous and mock hurt.

“I didn’t say _that_.”  Bill’s lips twitch upward, finding himself engaged by this handsome interloper with the brilliant grin and the cheekbones to die for.

“Excellent.  Now laugh, like you think I am charming.”  The man says.  Bill does not laugh, but the corners of his lips turn up into a smirk.

“So what’s your name?”  Bill asks.  The man’s eyes widen.

“Gabe, Gabe Saporta.  Did I not mention it?”  He says it almost smoothly enough to cover the fact that he forgot to tell Bill his name.  Bill actually does laugh now.  He picks up the sharpie, glaring at the distasteful color of it and writes in scrawled letters on a fresh napkin, _Bill Beckett_ followed by a phone number and Gabe beams as he does.

Gabe takes the napkin and stands and throws one last wink at Bill as he walks back to his friends who begin another round of loud noise at his approach.

Bill’s coffee is cold.  He tosses it and leaves.

It’s about an hour before his phone rings, an unfamiliar number on the screen, and he answers to hear Gabe’s voice.

“Holy shit, this is your actual number.”  Is the first thing Gabe says when Bill says hello.

“Very good observation.”  Bill says.

“I was serious about dinner, you know.”  Gabe says matter-of-factly, as if he plans to take Bill to dinner whether Bill is happy about it or not.

“Excellent.  You can pick me up from my apartment at seven.  Don’t be late; it makes a bad impression.  I’ll text you the address.  See you then.”  Bill hangs up before Gabe can get another word in.  He shoots off the promised text message and Gabe replies almost immediately with a ‘ _c u soon’_ and a winky face.

Bill is not sure how these things happen to him.  He just knows that in the future, he will know that a loud coffee shop is not the end of the world.


End file.
